Look me in the eye
by Sear
Summary: It is the year after that summer, a most unusual year indeed. 'And so the rumour of the wild glint in Draco Malfoy’s eyes was started.' Oneshot, dark


**_Title:_** Look me in the eye  
**_Author:_** Caroline Fale/Sear  
**_Rating:_** T / PG13  
**_Warnings:_** Hints of rape  
**_Disclaimer: _**I do not own Harry Potter  
**_Beta:_** Er- no? (That _doesn't_ equal "Don't want one"…)  
**_Reviews:_** Yes please!  
**_Archiving:_** Just ask first.

**.:StarsstarsstarS:.**

None of his supposed friends had seen him **that summer**, and he had been reported missing by the Ministry, but come first September he was there, on the platform, and he was early. He slunk onboard the train without anyone the wiser, settling in a compartment in the back, one he knew usually would be occupied by harmless Hufflepuffs. Wrapping himslf in his cloak and adjusting the hood to shadow his face he sat down to wait and perhaps to get some sleep.

He had returned, or maybe had been returned, with a very lost look in his eyes, and hair tangled as if by wind. He sat alone, even when the Hufflepuffs took up the compartment with their chatter, he let it wash over him, not listening. He simply could not bear company, he was filled with a sharp, fragile need _not to be touched_ by _anyone_, for _any_ reason. The Hufflepuffs who rode with him learn that the hard way when they tried to wake him up when the train arrived, and so the rumour of the wild glint in Draco Malfoy's eyes was started. Seeing the wary looks he was getting he only smiled a thin, colourless smile that he hid behind a hand as if it was somehow **dirty**.

**.:StarsstarsstarS:.**

Pansy also learned not to touch him the hard way, but the fact that she tried to put her hand on Darco's arm in the Great Hall at least warned those who hadn't believed before. A shocked silence reigned after the last of her screams died away, before she was rushed away to the infirmary to join the Hufflepuffs.

Somehow the Headmaster sounded shocked when he held his opening speech, and even his housmates shied away from him. More than once he hear the words 'Death Eater' or 'Slythein scum' whispered behind his back, and one day he found himself surrounded by members of the DA brandishing wands.

"Do not to touch me," Draco spat out.

"We don't want to touch you," they sneered. "We only want proof."

"What proof?"

They seemed startled, as if the thougth hadn't struck them, that he didn't know, that he couldn't read minds.

"We want to see your Dark Mark."

At that he hissed, spinning around, looking for a way to escape the humiliation. Seeing none he shouted a spell, the first that came to mind. For a long while he did not think, he only dodged, jumped and shot spell after spell. And his attackers fell, until only a few remained, but then they came, Wonder Boy and his two lackeys. Suddenly, but not unexpectedly – _Circe, he was so tired_ – the duel turned and then ground to a standstill, a temporary ceasfire. He stod, chest heaving when Potter shouted _Expelliarmus_ – and yes, he did see it coming, he was just to tired to move. His wand was cruelly ripped from his hand.

They litterally threw themselves over him, and he _couldn'tbreathe couldn'tbreathe couldn'tbreathe couldn'tbreathe_, as they ripped his sleeves off. Pale skin, criscrossed by almost unnoticeable scars was revealed, but no Dark Mark. They let out a collective gasp, and didn't protest when he got his wand and repaired the robe. They even stepped back when he waspishly bade them leave him be. In the fading light he only hoped that nobody had seen the faint silver of faded pain on his flesh, after all, no one of his attackers were Slytherin.

After that incident he smiled that thin, **dirty**, almost derisive smile a lot, and yet nobody ever saw it.

**.:StarsstarsstarS:.**

In many ways it was an unusual year. Voldemort was active like never before, but he never went after the Boy-Who-Lived. Visits to Hogsmead were banned until further notice, and the Weasly Twins returned for their exams. Cho Chang was seen kissing her girlfriend in a hallway, and so questions about her and Cedric ended. And with the turning of the leaves Draco was kicked off the Slytherin Quidditch team since he could not – _would not_ – concentrate on finding the Snitch, being far too absorbed with the sensation of wind on his face, through his hair.

Yes, an unusual year indeed. When Potter, stuttering and very uncomfortable brought up Draco's threat of revenge for his father's imprisonment, all he got was a cool, indifferent gaze.

"If you put him back there, in Azkaban, again I promise not to take any vengance – in fact I'll thank you," was all Draco said, and went back to his studies, scribbling the last word of the translation for his Ancient Runes NEWTs class.

Once Granger had tried to speak to him, maybe encouraged by his reply to Potter's stuttered inquiry and foolishly not thinking of the fact that he only ever spoke to answer teachers' questions these days. Under his impassive gaze her words crumbled into nothing before she blushed and turned away. Maybe she wasn't frightened of him, but even she felt that somehting that made people cast frightened glances over their shoulders when he passed.

He supposed he could see why they feared him as he stalked through the hallways on his way to the dungeons, dusty and almost-tired, tangles of hair brushing his cheekbones. It was late, nearly curfew, and he had to return to Slyherin territory however little he liked it.

This year the library had become his haunt even more than Granger's and the the Ravenclaws'. Mostly since his housemates' concern mixed with predatory interest unsettled him, and the mere thought of whom could have slept in his bed before him made his skin crawl with disgust. Thinking of that he used to spread his cloak on the floor and spent uncomfortable nights on it, the cold from the flagstones seeping into already frozen bones. Not wanting unneccesary contact, he always rose before his housemates, as early as he could without being caught by patroling prefects maintaining curfew, as he had been the first morning. Of course he hadn't been the one coming out worse for wear from that chance meeting, but it was not an incident he cared to repeat.

In the beginning Crabbe and Goyle had tried to follow him around as earlier years, but they seldom found him, and when they did he was unresponsive and simply ignored them and so they stopped. Now he was fairly certain that the were, to put it a **delicate **way, seeing each other. The very thought made his stomach turn as he **scoured** the library for a finding spell powerfull enought to locate Him.

Yes, Him. Him who in a voice devoid of warmth had said:

"_Look me in the eye_,"

and then had **broken** Draco into tiny shards and put Draco back together, not as he used to be, but to please _He_. And _He_ had used Draco, thinking him a fine gift, not once aknowledging Draco's humanity.

While the others at school had spent their summer in the sun with friends, done their homework and slept in, Draco had spent his summer bleeding, begging, on his knees, in pain. Long after he could take it no more he had managed to escape, and the initial hot rush of relief had left him cold an unfeeling. Now the tracking spell consumed his days and poisoned his sleep.

Draco knew that he never would be able to kill _He_, but Him was dead, a walking corpse whose death had not caught up with it. It would be a pleasure to make Him bleed and then wash the **dirt** and **pain** and **humiliation** away with his blood.

It was winter-spring when he found his tracking spell, and spring-winter when he cast it. It worked just as beautifully as he had known it would. But he did not follow it to seek revenge – not justice, '_There is no justice, only pain,_' that he had learnt **that summer** – instead he waited.

For the first time that year he talked to his housmates without being threatened. He not only talked but he laughed and joked around, and ate, carefree for a while. But he still did not sleep in his **disgusting** bed in the cold Slytherin dormitories.

**.:StarsstarsstarS:.**

The found Him in the main hall of the Ministry early in the spring-summer before finals. He was completely naked, completely drained off blood and his eyes were poked out. His hair had been removed by some spell and then used as gag, a bloodied gag, because Him had been forced to eat _choice_ parts of his anatomy before it had been put there.

He lay on his stomach, back awash in sunlight, the message burned into it, there for the world to see.

Look me in the eye 

The next day it was splashed all over the front page of the Prophet, as Draco had known it would be.

'_Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater, found murdered'_

It was almost unbearably funny that people would offer him their condoleances, he nearly laughed out loud when Potter of all peole said 'Sorry', but he rather enjoyed the sheer absurdity of it. And people seemed to forget being afraid of him, the next time Granger approached him, he let her.

Spring-summer turned into summer-spring and with the leaving feast people forgot just how weird **that year** had been, a semblance of normality returned with Dumbledore's annual speech. The Heamaster spoke of forgivness – **never forgive** – and Draco listened, even if he did not clap his hands afterwards.

It was over in, in many ways, now all he had to do was to find somewhere to spend his summer. This year he was aiming not to bleed all over his potions assignment, so home was out of question. It only remained to see if **that summer** would be the only one of its kind, and even if Malfoys did not beg he begged that it would be when he rolled himself into his cloak that last night. Beside him his bed still remained untouched.

**Fin. **

**.:StarsstarsstarS:.**

**A/N:** Well, I read this fic a while ago where Draco was raped by his father, and it was just disgusting – but incredibly well written – and I got so damn angry that I for once actually wrote something...

Please, tell me what you think...


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